Path to Damnation
by Parselmaster
Summary: Discontinued. Info in my profile. Only demons can fight demons. And the only way to vanquish those fiends is to become one himself. That is the lesson Harry is forced learn as he is cast into a new world full of horrors that even Voldemort couldn't Match.
1. A Stranger in the River

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor anything else you may recognize from a book, anime and or television show. This is in no way shape or form mine except for roughly half the plot, the effort is mine. The rest of the ideas and plot belong to The Watcher In The Dark (user number 686090) He wrote a little less than half of this chapter but never continued, having hit a writers block. I found his ideas quite good and decided to try to finish this. To be honest, I like the sound of this story more than I like my other one, **_ANTISOUL_**. To those few of you that like **_Antisoul_**, don't dispair, I will still continue to write it. I also am rewriting most of that one. And on another note, this is the unedited version of this chapter.

Summary: A spell gone awry casts Harry in an universe where Voldemort doesn't exist but evil is more present and fell than ever. There, hellspawns, monsters and living nightmares seemingly come out of a madman's demented imagination wage endless wars against men out of medieval times, seeking to garner corrupted powers and secure their dominion over what they hold as a gigantic chessboard. Inhumanity takes a new meaning as a lost wizard, his memory lost in the process, treads sinewy paths littered by bodies and darkness, weaving deep through lands shadowed by the ruin of eternal conflict and into utter damnation.

As he tries to find where he truly belongs and make his way back to his true world, he finds himself battling against forces delving deep into magic darker and fouler than what he had witnessed so far.

Voldemort, in this impossible world, may not exist but he is nothing compared to what Harry must fight against to survive.

For he cannot win against the troops of hell as he is from the light.

Only demons can fight demons. And vanquish them.

And the only way to vanquish those fiends is to become one himself...

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Now onto **_The Path to Damnation._**

"Chapter 01"

**The Stranger in the River **

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"The power of the fiend-folk grew unbridled in the last hundred years, under the banner of their cursed god, Xaat the Hammer-wielder. From the great bulwarks of Alimathal, the green city beyond the jagged mountains of the north, the kingdom of Indilis could see flocks of black gathering and spreading through the horizon like a gale, ever deepening and increasing. The kings, fell and fair upon their thrones of steel, saw the hordes of hellspawns ever marching southwards and grew worried but did not take arms and ride out to drive them forth from the verdant plains of Indilis.

"When asked by their knights why they would so foolishly grant the fiends leave to multiply and walk closer to the walls of Alimathal, they answered in tones of wisdom, 'nay, do not gripe thy heart for they are like waves - they come and go in their endless flow but do not reach the summits of earth, where we took abode. They fear our might and our very name draws awe and despair into their very souls.' And so they spoke, comforted by the weight of their crowns but blind to the raging storm at their doors.

"When the knights heard those words they returned appeased to their rich abodes yet the plague was mustering its terrible power. The darkness sprawled across the skies, shadowing the sun and chilling the hearts of the northern folk. In the Year of Ruin, where many lost their life to countless causes ranging from the fall of the town of Caliband to the sundering of the northwestern lands, Alimathal's doors were at long last breached by the fiends and its houses were razed to the ground in a single night. The king's head was brought on a pike and planted in the entrance of the Grey Valley, daring anyone to venture in lands now fallen under the curse of Xaat. Their once shiny grass and verdant forests are now dead and wither under the burden of time, never to sprout new leaves and bear fruit again. The waning glory of the Indilis passed soon thereafter.

"This tale does not tell what happened to the cities of Dorithiel and Amflagis, but no one ever heard any tidings from both afterwards. The souls of those two domains fell forever silent and the roads that lead to them are now filled with orcs and creatures of the vilest kind.

"As many bards said over the next eons, the ruin of Alimathal was the beginning of the end and the end of the beginning. The time of war had finally come."

- - - Lay of Alimathal, sung by an unknown minstrel of the fourth era - - -

**The Fifth Era - Near Diringhim**

The river of Diringdhim was reputed to those who once knew it as temperamental and a water-path risky to tread - at least for those who dared set sail on it. Its surface was cluttered with jagged rocks and its eddying waters bore no ounce of mercy to the imprudent few who ever tried to paddle their way through. Framed by saw-like mountains that cast a damp shadow over its sinewy body, Diringdhim had claimed many a life and more than once never returned the body of its victim.

Some called it cursed yet others, like those who had dwelt in the now dead villages of Andit and Elemnos, blessed it for the fish and water it gave them, feeding the normally barren lands that spread through the horizon in that region of the north. Few men now ever dared to cross deserted plains only inhabited by broken memories of once hallowed times and the ghosts of those who had passed to the Hereafter. The tombs of heathen kings, further in the west, bore no testimony of life's continuation in the area. Life had waned a long time ago, swept away by the thundering hiccups of Time. Folks had retreated to the south, fleeing the evils of the North, where helm and sword clashed in a symphony of inhumanity.

Yet today, as the few vultures that lived in the chaotic eyries of the nearby peaks could have said in their own tongue, something was amiss.

It wasn't the cool breeze washing from the west that led those carrion-eating beasts to such a perplexing conclusion but well the stormy behavior of the Diringdhim. As a matter of fact, as if that was actually possible, its whirlpools grew more numerous and deeper, and the waters began churning as if lit by an unseen fire. Steam rose to the skies from the agitated waters and an upheaval of worrying dimensions took form. The river roared in anger and its pace quickened as tons of water were drawn westwards towards the falls of Elemnos. The riverbanks hissed in protest as their soil was ripped away and the surrounding flora replied in kind, its once harmonious voice turning into an indignant screech. Then, for a moment, the unholy unrest subsided, receding towards a calmer state, before resuming its ruinous work. The commotion raged on and on without seeming to find an end, as if frustrated by a goal not achieved. Geysers sprung from the troubled surface as the turmoil gained in power.

Then it appeared.

A huge wave, black but crowned in blinding white, came forth, crashing forwards with a horrendous sound that would make any cringe in fear and wilt under the terrifying sight. Foam soared through the air, landing hither and yon, as a vortex of sorts finally collided with a small sandy slope of the bank, raking its pebble away as if longing to tear the declivity apart and plunge it under its liquid body. The water seemed to boil for a moment, then freeze in midair as if losing its strength, then fell back, its hands retreating back to the serpentine-looking riverbed, where it resumed its once peaceful journey towards the west, towards the sea.

The curtains of fog that had gathered around the riverbank cleared away, slowly but surely, its phantomlike presence ebbing away much to the few members of the local fauna's relief. Second by second, the veil disappeared to reveal a world of devastation, with soaked trees with their barks broken and dripping with water, plants ripped from the ground and scattered everywhere. Rocks and splinters of wood were strewn across the landscape and filth of many kinds could be seen littering the damp ground. The small prominence where the water had risen a few seconds earlier soon came into view, its state not so different from the rest of the desolate riverbank. Sand had turned into half-hard mud, clinging to the rock like a mantle of sorts, as if frozen by a godlike hand. Two trees had fallen to the onslaught of ruin and laid on their side, never to see another year pass by.

And in between, as if guarded by the two dead masses, lay, sprawled and unmoving, the still figure of a man, his face turned to the right and his chest heaving faintly. For long, tiring minutes he didn't move but he soon began to cough, the miniature explosions wracking his form with a vengeance. A low moan escaped his blued lips and his features scrunched into a painful grimace as he moved in his prone position. His eyes then opened and his bleary gaze fell on the expanse of sand with a tired expression.

"Where am I?" he choked to no one. As only silence replied to him, he stirred and cast an eye onto his surroundings, taking in the sight of dark trees glittering with water and crowning the heads of dreary riverbanks. His breath hitched as he struggled to move his limbs, each movement drawing a gasp of pain from his ragged throat. He brought his elbows to chest level, raking them over the jagged pebbles and drawing welts on his grime-covered skin. Slowly, he arranged himself into a sitting position, his eyes still sweeping around to gather his bearings. "Looks like there's no one here," he rasped to himself, shifting onto his side to prop himself on a knee and stand up; the effort, however, proved too great for him as he felt a lightheadedness fill his mind, threatening to throw him back to the ground. He froze, waiting for the headache to recede, then resumed his attempt to get back on his feet. He coughed violently as he straightened himself and wearily stroked his chin, tr ying to chase away the foul taste that dwelt in his mouth. He spat on a nearby mound of moss, retching to get some some water out of his system.

He bent forwards, hands on his knees, valiantly trying to regain his composure, before taking a wobbly step towards the nearest bark, seeking for something that would support his thin frame. He fell heavily on it and rearranged himself on the almost rotten corpse, lying on his back to cleanse his pain. Breathing shallowly, he raised a hand in front of his clear green eyes, his gaze running over a skin full of bruises and dark patches that were the result of his underwater mishandling. Grumbling, he dropped his arm on his side before he blinked and forced his worn out limb to position itself, once again, in front of his face.

Somehow, the sharpened sight of his forearm, still soaked and covered in cuts, unnerved him, as if he expected it to be different - but his arm looked normal. No, he mused, it was something. It was almost as if he had expected it to look differently than usual. He blinked again as he mulled the thought over and twirled his wrist to deepen his reflections.

He breathed in wearily as his trail of thoughts hit a dead end as he couldn't find anything wrong. He sighed before getting up from his vulnerable position, wincing as his various injuries screamed in protest, violently shaking against his control. As he collected his bearings he heard a strange noise, like thunder in the distance, yet... It didn't fade. He thought it may be something near by. Something to tell him where he was.

And as that thought reached his head he had another one. Who was he? A question so simple to ask but what a temptor it was, to unravel his sanity. He had no answer to the question, no memory to fill in the blanks. The temptor was smiling darkly in anticipation for the rising panic to shatter his mind, his soul but was most unamusingly denied.

The man now wondered if he would find out who he was as well as where. It was unlikely he would find the answers he was seeking to unluck the mystery of who he was but where is an entirely different matter. He reached his arms around his body as a violent chill decent upon his skin from the cool fingers of winter herself, the wind her hands. The feeling of his bones freezing to the marrow.

Stumbling upon the soaking earth of the forest, as his the combined will of the wind and his injuries forced him to rest again as his vision filled wih swiftly multiplying dots. His flesh and bones aching from the strain his movements had done. It was nearly nightfall but the sounds of the continuing thunder were still there. But now it was joined by other stange noises that he didn't recognize. He shakily walked up a small mound of earth and looked down to the small valley between the hills. His back was hunched over in an exhausted position and what he saw was a fight... no a battle between two forces. On one side there were humans, knights fighting on horse and foot, armor or peasant clothing, sword, lance, dagger and even a few farming sythes. People fighting with everything they have and more against strange beings. He shuddered both from the cold and the idea of talking to either of the forces, though he perfered the human forces most definitely. He turned his thoughts and sight back to the creatures.

They were humaniod and some not, large frog-like beings, wolfmen and even a few beasts that looked like skeletons. Before he could complete his analysis of these... creatures his thoughts were cut short. Hearing a scream of rage behind him he turned and see a large force of knights on their steads charging him down, the light being too dark to make out detailed, all they were seeing is a hunched over figure in the dark, much like some of the creatures...

The man with no name ducked and rolled to the side, his body feeling warmth as some of his skin ripped with the sudden movement. He hissed in pain as he collided with a tree and all he saw was dark. When he came to several moments had passed and the cavalry were scattered around him, some dead. The creatures were around him as well, the battle had come to him. He turned his head and looked on in shock as several more humans and creatures killed eachother. A knight slashed his sword in a wide arc atop on of the more humaniod beings head and seemingly boiling brainmatter, blood and bits of flesh and bone was splattered all over the man.

Adrenaline filled the mans veins and using his new-found energy, he got up and looked for a way out of this hell he was surrounded by. Rushing through the bushes off to the side and narrowly dodging several arrows that were launched from a knights bow, he tripped and fell upon the dead body of a knight, sword and dagger in hand. He reached down and grapped the dagger and ran. One of the creature lunged at him and in fright he slashed with hisnewfound dagger, luckily slashing the things neck. It collasped with a wet gurgle clutching its neck. He continued like this until he came upon a small crevice in a hill, covered in bushes. He ducked inside and got in sa deep as he could. The adrenaline suddenly left him and he slumped where he lay, conserving energy as he watched through the branches, the battle fierce. He slipped the dagger into the tattered remains of his clothing. His mind went numb as he watched as the continued horror he had barely escaped played out.

His vision blurred as severe exhaustion set in yet again and this time he succumbed to its effects. His vision went completely dark as he watched yet another knight beheaded, the creature that did so howled after it saw its prey die. The creature was then struck down angerly by another knight. Now his sight was completely non-existant. His senses were shutting down one at a time. Finally he was completely out, his mind swimming and relving in the sweet silent darkness of the dark, black reaches of his mind.

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He awoken to the feeling of movement. Tired beyond belief but he forced himself to awaken. His senses awakened one by one along with his memories of the battle. A horrible stench filled his nostrils. He gagged at the power of the smell, his eyes watering, even shut. Blinking away the tears he tried to move his body, feeling a dull resistance on his entire body. Fright filled him as he became more aware he was forced to relive the horrible scene he had just barely escaped. He looked around and found himself to be in a cart made from rotten, sodden wood filled with the bodies of the dead knights. He resistance he had felt earlier was the heavy bodies of the dead warriors stripped of their prized armor and weapondry. Looking through a crack in the wood he found the cart to be surrounded by a fraction of the army of creatures, cheering and talking to eachother in sounds of victory, universal to every race and person. The cart was also surrounded with several other carts, some holding the dead bodies of the noble steads the knights had used to charge into battle, another filled with armor and anysort of sharp blade imaginable.

Seeing those weapons the nameless man reached into his pocket with great difficulty. He found to his continued tortured existance that the dagger he had used as protection had dropped out of his pocket. Suddenly the cart hit a bump and the air left his lungs as a heavyset body crashed into his diaphragm. He heard the dull thud of metal bounce near him and this sound filled him with newfound hope. He reached as hard as he could, feeling the edge of a handle. The cart bumped yet again and in this brief span of a second the nameless man grapped the dagger.

The feeling of relief he recieved as he held the dagger was enough for a small but strained smile to appear on his face. The cart suddenly halted and the jolt from that caused more weight from the dead bodies to crush into him. Gasping in to replace the air that had once again left him, he felt the cart being turned on its side. Trying not to move as he and the other bodies were purged from the cart, he felt pain as he hit the ground roughly as was covered yet again in bodies. With a horrible shock he realized that several of the bodies were still dripping in body and other fluids that he dared not think about. He heard several of the creatures grunting from the work they were performing. The nameless man tried to focus on something else, like for instance the oddly rough hard ground. He stopped focusing once he realized just what the ground was. It was bones, mounds and mounds of bones covered in clothing of varied states of decay.

He heard clanging in the distance and realized that the noise was the armor and weapons, the tools of which the humans that had fought. He tried his hardest to stay silent and unmoving as the creatures swept through the area, searching for what he did not dare to think.

He dared not move for at least an hour after the beasts had finished their great search. When he was completely certain that the creatures, beasts, fiends, whatever they be; had left he removed himself from the pile of the dead and took a look around.

He was in a dumping ground for the creatures enemies, piles of bones and weapons everywhere. In the middle of all these great, terrible piles, was the remains of a small village. Huts of clay, wood and rotting straw, a well in the middle of the town. Flys buzzing over several dead carcasses. Large birds, vultures, were picking at the bones that still held bits of flesh till only the ivory bones remained. He walked into the village, across the many piles and debris, he found small bits of plant life, each being in various states of health but were not attacked by the many species of insects in the area.

He entered the largest hut of all, the roof of rotting straw and wood had collapsed, and the floor was pounded dirt. The hut was very dusty and not to much light made it into the forsaken land outside the hut, let alone into it, but there was enough to see. With in the hut there was a walled in closure that he couldn't reach, the roof was blocking the doorway. Around him was a broken table, on the floor near said table was paper, surprisingly undamaged considering the state of the village, in the corner of the room was a foul smelling pot he dared not approach. Also under the broken table lay what appeared to be a carved out log, stained with sauses, the word trencher appeared in his mind. Against the wall was an old looking shelf, upon which was more paper, a quill and a tilted but covered bottle of ink, or at least what appeared to be ink. Under the shelf were crude tools, probably used for farming, some rotten hay filled with insects and, one strange tool.

It appeared to be a farming sythe, the wood on which was about a foot and a half long but, that wasn't the strange thing. No, what was strange was the fact that there was a long rusted chain attached to the bottom of the sythe. Picking up the strange tool, he was hit with an idea. He threw it as hard as he could against the wall, before it hit the wall, the chain was pulled roughly and the sythe was pulled back to him at a faster speed than that he threw it with. Ducking to dodge and cursing his brillance and stupidity, the weapon hit the wall behind him.

Now unfortunatly for him, he had ducked directly into the insect infested hay. Sputtering in disgust he ran out of the hut bringing the weapon with him by its chain. He ran straight for the well and pulled on the rope to bring up the bucket. The rope moved easily until it was stuck on something unseen in the shadows below. Pulling at the rope as hard as he could, he looked down into the darkness and could just make out the bucket caught on a loose stone. He pulled harder and the stone fell, as well as several dozen others, into the bucket or down below. Surprised by the sudden weight he fell into the well, falling fast.

Luckily for him the strange weapon he brought got caught at the top of the well. He was now suspended in the darkness of the well. Breathing deeply at this great exertion upon his damaged body he gripped the chain tighter. He held for what seemed hours, not possessing the strength to pull himself up, until finally he let go of the chain and fell into the darkness below. The chained weapon followed him below, falling at great speed, the silver blade glowing as it fell...

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A/N

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Kama- Farming sythe usually used in Asia, was not thought of much of a weapon, but is surprisingly effective. The one Harry discovered has had a chain added to increase its range and effectiveness. The standard one is used mostly to cut grass or rice. 


	2. The Pressense of Minds

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor anything else you may recognize from a book, anime and or television show. This is in no way shape or form mine except for roughly half the plot, the effort is mine. The rest of the ideas and plot belong to The Watcher In The Dark (user number 686090). Please check out his works.

Now onto **_The Path to Damnation._**

"Chapter 02"

**The Presense of Minds**

He was trapped, chained in the darkness. He snarled and forced the chains yet again but alas they were too strong for him. He was weakening far too much in this prison. No longer did he possess the strength, the vitality that he was once was famed for. He was haggard and weakened, enraged at this prison. Ba'al Zzabbuon would pay for this. Oh yes he would pay and pay dearly. He would make him beg before he was out of this hell. His own spirit was nearly broken and that should never happen.

His yellowed eyes snapped open as he felt the presense of a being nearby. A follower? That would be something he hated to hope for, for his own followers had converted to Zzabuon either in fear or in search of greater power. So for what reason would there be for someone to be near his alter? Stretching out his senses his yellowed eyes shut gently and widened. This being had a sythe. This increased the chances of this person being a follower. His senses informed him that the mysterious person was malnourished and injured, dying. Taking his chances that this person wasn't an enemy, he used nearly the last of his energy to touch this man with the healing touch. He then used the last of his energy to transmit the location of the sacrificial seeds of harvest, preserved in jars beneath his alter. He fell into a deep sleep, hoping that this stranger would return the help given to him.

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The young man snapped open his eyes into the darkness. His body felt strange, and looking upon it, expecting it to be broken, he found it to be surprisingly full and healthy. He peered around him and realized he was in the well. Dim light filtered from above and around the filth encrusted walls giving grey light to the area surrounding him. Seeing his sythe he bent down to pick it up, relishing the feelings of no pain as he went. As he straighted, he noticed an irregularity of the stone. The shade of the rock in that place was lighter in color, newer. Touching the cool, grime covered stone, he pushed and surprisingly it collapsed inward creating a cloud of dust and debris.

Covering his eyes and coughing, he stumbled into the hidden chamber and when the dust settled, found an alter in the center of the room. The alter had faint inscriptions covering it in a language that had long faded from this world. The feeling in the room was ominous, like an ancient grave that should never be disturbed. He kneeled down in front of the alter, unknowingly in the same position of prayer that dictated a fellowship of those who also kneeled before such an alter. He suddenly had a burst of inspiration and searched under the decaying symbol of religion and found three jars which once had been opened revealed that they contained many seeds that were surprisingly alive. Inspecting the alter closer, he discovered the name of the entity that those who used this alter had worshiped, Baelchronus, at least that is what the characters attempted to spell out. Getting up from his kneeling position he had a sudden impulse to bow, which he went through with. Bowing deeply to the alter and thanking Baelchronus for his help, he turned and left the chamber thinking nothing of his actions inside and how it would effect him.

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Yellowed eyes snapped open yet again as he felt energy rushing into him. So the man _had_ been a follower, he was so grateful for such luck that he placed one of his blessings within the man. The blessing was the Kronia, a gift of a successful harvest. If his young follower returned he would slowly mold him into the very tool nessessary to free him from this prison, a vessel for his very being. Dark laughter echoed throughout the shadowy chamber as renewed hope surged through it's shadowed heart.

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The man decided to use his sythe to help him scale the walls of the well. Surprisingly it worked, the stone was soft and made from clay, there were stones that were missing creating niches for him to place his hands and feet. His blade cut through the stone like a knife through butter. He reached and climbed his way to freedom, carrying the small jars of seeds with him in his tattered clothing. He climbed until his longs burned and the light receded from the heavens. He climbed until finally he reached the edge of the well's top. Getting out of the well, breathing heavily, he heard tearing noises nearby.

Thinking quickly he rushed for the hut that he had found the sythe inside of. Seeing the pile of rotting hay and finding no other option, he dove into it and waited. The sounds stopped and with the flapping of wings the vultures that had enjoyed a nice large meal of decayed flesh flew away.

Breathing a sigh of relief that it only was a few vultures, he got out of the rotten hay and looked around the hut more closely. He found that the room had a small indentation in the floor, nearest the collasped section of the hut. He neared it warily, brandishing his Sythe. Peering into it, he found that it was a fire pit, there was flint and a small peice of iron next to it. Next to the iron was a small sack appearing to be made of some kind of animal skin, which under closer inspection proved to be waterproof. A watersack. He wouldn't use the pit until after he had reassembled the hut. He was going to stay in this village. Brushing the ash from the pit he also grabbed a large pile of hay from the pile and lay down inside the pit. Fighting hunger and cold, he covered himself with the hay and went to sleep for the night.

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When he awoke the next day, he grabbed his sythe and jars of seeds and took to work. He found that outside of a few huts were barrels filled with rainwater and in one small hut he found found a small chest filled with dried vegetables. The food was stale but he his hunger won out against his disgust. He went outside and realized that he need more food. He cleared some land nearby and set to work farming.

He dug at the earth with his sythe and bare hands and buried a few of the dead corpses piled nearby. This wasn't an unselfish act however, as he planned to use the bodies nutrients to supply his vegetation with newfound life in this forsaken land. After buring a few of the humans and horses, he placed a few seeds from his jars into the earth. Taking his small watersack of rainwater that he had filled from one of the barrels, he poured it on each small seed, he hoped they would grow healthily. He also went to the piles of armor and weapons and took those that he could carry easily, such as chain mails, arm and leg plates, daggers and Kris's. He also scourged the piles of the dead for better clothing and found a few peices that were not too bloody or too damaged that he now wore or stored away for later.

After days of this he grew completely immune to the death all around him. His plants were growing surprisingly well in this landscape; he should have his first crop withing a few weeks time. It had rained and he had gathered more water in his barrels. The hut he lived in was now more stable and wouldn't collapse anytime soon. The creatures very rarely came by and when they did, he hid with increasing skill in the piles of the dead. On one of his trips searching the bodies of fallen warriors, he found a journal.

On that night he cracked open the leather bound packet of parchment and read of the human soldier Kelac Menthal. some of the pages were ruined but three entries stood out from the rest.

_**Day 35 Monthe of Thirthicus**_

_Older brother fell today. I want out of this nightmare. I want to return to Diringhim City, to hide in and pray in the temples atop the acropolis, but I can not. I swore an oath by his side that I would continue in his stead. If I broke my word, not only will brother be shamed but general Priddat would feel betrayed. He has been my last life line in this forsaken land surrounded by enemies on all sides. I feel that I owe it to him, he has always been kind to me and my brother. He even ordered us to reclaim brothers body from the fiends and give it a proper burial. For his and my brothers sake we will fight this tide and push it back. I only hope that we will have enough strength left to get home. I must get back to show father the map. I'm his heir now I guess. He will want to reclaim the heir ring himself. My father should never be so stubborn. _

_**Day 41 Monthe of Saturnus**_

_General Priddat fell today. I'm in charge now. I'm really frightened. I'm ordering the troop back to Diringhim. Everyone is exhausted, were tired of fighting. I'm glad father wouldn't let Juon join the army to fight. I'm not sure we will survive. The map probably won't make it back to father. Is this what uncle felt like before he died?_

_**Day 43 Monthe of Saturnus**_

_I'm the last of the troop, they ambushed us. I'm dying If anyone reads this know that I died with honor, as did my men. Good men they were. Please find my brother's body and take his ring and this journal to my father, the Duke of Diringhim. This is my last request and if there is any deities out there listening let my message ring true. _

_--Kelac Menthal of Diringhim_

Underneath the first entry was a crudely drawn map. If the journal was to be taken at face value, then the man who owned this journal was the son of a noble, and the ring for the heirship of that noble was buried on the location marked on the map. He would search for the ring and return it to the duke. It may earn him a few favors, but first he will stay in this village until he had enough resources to travel farther and knew more of the landscape. In respect for the noble dead, he decided to take on the name Kelac. The name may also earn him more of a reward with the duke.

After checking his crop for the day and finding that it was growing well, he set out for his hut and stopped at the sight of two fiends outside. Ducking behind a rainbarrel, he watched them carefully as they entered his hut. He grasped his sythe tightly and crept behind them. One of them did a crackling snarled and turned, but as it turned it fell, as its head had collided with the pole end of his Kama hard enough that it cracked bone. It was unprepared for the hit and was knocked unconcious and seeping white blood. The other snarled and raised a strange looking sword, raised a shield and slammed his ivory blade down point first towards Kelac's foot, which withdrew quite quickly. It then Thrust the blade directly at Kelac. Kelac jumped to the side then forward and wrapped his chain around the beasts neck and twisted. Neck broken, the body sagged to the ground dead. The deed done, Kelac inspected the two fiends. The first one appeared to be a skeleton at first glance, but was much wider then any human skeleton and had two gnarled horns, like a rams. The other, dead, one looked to have a lions head on a human male's body. The sword and shield it had wielded turned out to be made from bone and was crumbling right before his eyes.

Looking closely, he noticed that the first's skeleton like body was the same color as the sword. Intrigued, he inspected his captured foe carefully. The skelaton could be used as armor, weapons or the like apparently. Walking into one of his caches, he took a strip of broken chainmail and tied the skeleton up, then grasped the dead one by the leg and dragged it.

Thinking very carefully, he strained his muscles and hefted the fiend up and over one of the large mounds surrounding the village. He dragged the body very far down the road until he came to a small ditch with a pond. He dumped the body into the water to rid it of any scent and went back to the village in a hurry.

By the time he got back, the Skeleton was awake and trying to get free, but stopped when he walked in. After snarling at him he shut up, with some added insentive of course. Kelac had his Kama blade against the Skelaton's forehead. It started making clicking noises rapidly then stopped, heisitated then started talking in the human tongue, with a surprised look upon its face no less, as if it couldn't believe it was speaking the tongue.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Its voice was crackly, like bones smacking against eachother.

"I have you at my mercy and _your _the one asking questions? No, I think you should tell me who you are and why I shouldn't kill you now." Kelac said this in a raspy voice, as it wasn't used very much.

The Skeleton stiffened and replied quickly "I am Descodifer Lengua of the Skelators under the Knecroknight Va'shs, the one you killed in cold blood." The Skelators voice got angry towards the end.

"Well Lengua, you two were in my house and you still haven't told me why I shouldn't dispose you you like I did Va'shs." Kelac pushed his kama blade harder against the skelators skull. The skelator stiffened again.

"W-wait. Don't kill me. I'll tell you anything, do anything, just don't kill me." The skelator seemed to have gotten the message. Finally.

"I want to know everything you know, starting with whos alligence you swear by." The skelator spilled everything it could think of. It followed Ba'al Xaat's high priest. It was created from the dead body of a grey orc, which was one of the various races the fiendfolk were part of. It's mission was to patrol the area for threats, but revealed after further pursuasion that they were far off track as they wanted to rest for a while. That the humans were putting up greater resistance in the last areas of Diringhim then anywhere else in Illidis. That he was formed in this nation so that gave him the ability to even comunicate with him in the first place, through the Nations Tongue.

Kelac recieved many rough jewels of information from the skelator, and got a polished diamond when he raised his Kama blade into a striking position.

"Wait, please, I'll fuse with you, just don't!"

"Fuse?" Kelac was intrigued with the term,

"Yes I'll fuse with you, just don't kill me, even fusion would be better then death again!" The skelator was obviously frightened of both death and this fusion. Deciding to take a risk, he would accept the things offer, as it was something it obviously didn't want to do. Kelac was confident that he could handle this pathetic creature if it pulled any tricks.

"I agree. Fusion it is. Instruct me, but be warned, you pull any tricks you die, no questions asked." The skelator actually quivered, and this was once a demonic being that the humans of this realm feared? Pathetic.

The skelator shook and intoned carefully the instructions. To grasp his head and carefully dislocate the spinal vertabrae, to twist the arm and legs. To place Kelac's legs into his legs and Kelac's arms and hands into his hands. Appearently this fusion was for the Skelator to be armor, and no tricks could be pulled now because of its current body shape it could never move properly. A useful if strange ability, as the bones were harder then the iron armor the knights wore.

Once Kelac had done all of the skelators instructions, he removed the chainmail rope and placed the ribcage onto his chest and grabbed the skull of the Skelator and placed it upon his head like a helmet.

After these things were done, there was a flash behind Kelac's eyes and he felt the bones of the skelator shift around his body. A strange resistance in his head, but not upon his body appeared but when it was broken, a clarity that Kelac had never remembered ever feeling took place in his mind. Suddenly he realized just everything that pertained to this fusion and felt a sick glee. He controlled the skelator's body now. It augmented his strength and speed, but not too much as that would damage his own body. He could tap into its abilities, and it's mind. He felt its fear and relved in it, drinking it in, savoring it like one would savor a favorite dessert or rare wine. He could drop it from his body with a thought but that was for later, when he didn't need it.

Looking at his hand, he clenched it and uncleched it, seeing the bony armor move with him. He grabbed his Kama, then he ran faster then he had before, he jumped to a greater height then ever and slammed the blade into the edge of a broken rainbarrel. The barrel's remains splintered and its copper fittings twisted and warped. He laughed with newfound glee and felt the fear of the fiend whoms body he stole.

Getting up from his crouched position, he experimentally he concentrated and formed a small dagger from bone. Seeing the dagger construct itself was fasinating, but as he watched he lost concentration and said dagger crumbled to dust. Realizing the problem, he knew he would have to practice this.

Far too excited to rest he practiced all night and when day came was far too exhausted. After checking his crops, he went to his hut and just slept without taking the armor off.

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Yellowed eyes bright with glee and sharp ivory teeth smiling sinisterly. The young man had accepted the seeds and planted them, that was an act of worship in its eyes, one that also planted the seeds of manipulation in the youngling's subconcious. It also subconciously thanked him for the crop now forming, or at least his alter, which also strengthened him. And to top it off, he never strayed far from the alter, staying just up above where he could monitor his actions. When it took up the sythe blade as its attack weapon he nearly laughed with glee. Killing the narashima over his alter, no matter how far up, acted as a sacrifice to him, giving him the beasts lifeforce and energy, which hadn't been weakened as the attack was through surprise. Also the very fact that a skelator offered to fuse with one without the Reapers Touch showed that either the youngling was very clever or that the skelator was a coward. He hated cowards, so either way he was pleased.

He was very pleased with the young man now calling himself Kelac. He decided to give him another gift and placed the blacksmiths flame upon the kama right before it slammed into a barrel. Growing tired, he slept. _Soon Ba'al Zzabbuan, I shall be free and then you shall pay..._

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A/N

**Gifts Blessings Spells Curses Magiks Enchantments**

_Skelators Growth- _The ability of a skelator to manipulate its bones, the reason why it's bones are stronger then iron. Any Bonded Knecroknight can tap into this ability to an extent. Takes much concentration.

_Skelators fusion- _This turns the skelator into living armor to augment strength and grant abilites to. The skelator's mind will also fuse with the wearers, but the wearer has complete and total control. The skelator would be completely aware of everything that was going on but will never again have control of it's body. Any abilities the Skelator possessed would be given to the wearer in small amounts.

_Nations Tongue-_ The ability to understand anyone that originates from the same nation, any race, human or fiend. Kelac 'originates' in Indilis.

_Healing Touch_- the ability for one to heal anothers wounds, or even cure a disability

_Kronia Blessing_- The gift of a successful harvest. He who possess's this gift would have a healthy, hardy and full crop for the next three months.

_Blacksmiths Flame_- increases the durability of a blade.

**Armory**

_Kama_- Farming sythe usually used in Asia, was not thought of much of a weapon, but is surprisingly effective. The one kelac discovered has had a chain added to increase its range and effectiveness. The standard one is used mostly to cut grass or rice.

**Fiendfolk**

Descodifer Lengua- A skelator whos name rather suits his case As any speech it understood Kelac now understands.

_Races- _The fiendfolk are of many races and of varied abilities.

Orc- Demonic beings- Usually large and muscular, their colors vary on physical strength. They are either grey, green or red.

Narashima- The head of a lion and the body of a man or woman.

Skelators- Self-sustaining undead, appears to be a skelaton usually, unless incredably powerful.

**Human**

**Deitys**

_Xaat-_Dark god of the amassed fiendfolk. Wields a great hammer said to crush all those that stand before it's might.

_Ba'al Zzabbuon_- Unknown deity that seems to have sealed another deity within an alter.

_Baelchronus- _An unknown being whos influence has touched Kelac's mind and body. Sealed into an alter by Ba'al Zzabbuon. Has apparent healing abilities and can grant a person a successful harvest.


End file.
